Necessity
by Katia-chan
Summary: Forgiveness is an act of compassion. It's not given because people deserve it, but because they need it. [Companion fic to Story Time and Accusations]


Necessity

By Katia-chan

A/N: The long awaited third party to Story Time and Accusations. I know I say it every time, but I feel a bit of erg after reading this over, so I hope it turned out alright. It was another child of my insomnia, so maybe that explains it.

Dedication: Everyone may call me redundant, but this, like most everything I write, is for my two favorite people, for Windswift because she has been responsible for the birth of many plunnies lately, and for Adi88, who threatened me with axe murder after the end of Accusations, and who I can now appease.

Disclaimer: Summary is a line from Buffy the Vampire slayer, and characters are from Fruits Basket, and I am far too broke to own either.

Enjoy!

XXX

Ayame had always believed that one wore ones emotions. They could be changed and shifted, trimmed and pinned to fit just right. That was the secret to beauty, to know how to mold it to ones own specifications. Ayame spent lots of time each day adjusting his clothing, and what emotions he wore pinned to his sleeves. After all, it wouldn't do for his bright and flaring personality to seem dull and colorless.

Anyone who knew Ayame knew that he spent at least half the morning, every morning, making sure he was perfect. It would be a sin to embrace the day with less preparation than that.

When he left the shop that morning though, there was something he lacked. His clothes were as extravagant as ever, not a hair was out of place, and yet there was something missing. He still smiled, still shone, but it wasn't the same. There was some fundamental part that simply wasn't there.

It was certainty.

Ayame Souma had never questioned a thing in his life. If he wasn't sure of something, he clung to it until he was. If one put enough energy into believing something, then it would always be true, because the hardest ones to disagree with are the consciences.

This morning was different. It had occurred to him that it was finally time to do something he had needed to do for years. He had never lacked courage, but after resolving to undertake this errand, he wasn't sure anymore. He felt weighed down by doubt, and it was hard to lift his legs. He knew how to wear feeling, but this was uncomfortable, and he didn't like it at all. He marveled at those people, some of them even in his own family, who could live with this feeling day after day. It was bound to crush a person.

The leaden feeling only increased as he approached Shigure's house. He knew he would find his target there. Shigure had said that Tohru had actually convinced his little brother to stay home sick for once. He couldn't quite imagine the battle of their gentle but stubborn wills that must have been. He was glad she had won out though, because like everything else, Ayame knew how to use an opportunity.

Now if he only knew what to do with it, maybe he wouldn't feel so sick.

He reached the porch and, as it seemed to be the day for such, committed another first; he hesitated. It was hard work to knock on the door, much harder than he had expected. Determination wasn't carrying him as far as he had hoped, and he felt an indescribably strong urge to simply turn and flee. It would be easier than this, this not knowing, this eternal wait. Where was Yuki? Had Shigure lied and the boy had gone to school? What if he was too sick to get up to answer the door? Shigure hadn't said how sick, and his friend wasn't home today either. Would Yuki leave him standing out here forever?

"What do you want?" The quiet voice, tinged with annoyance, broke his dizzying train of thought. It took some effort for him to focus on his little brother, because his head continued to spin its creative, and at that moment, unwanted, threads of imagination and 'what if' scenarios.

"Ah, Yuki," he said, and even his words came out with a little less strength than usual. He wasn't sure what to say next; he hadn't planned that far ahead, and so he found himself going no further.

Yuki sighed and stepped back from the door. "Get in here," he grumbled, and Ayame followed him gratefully. They walked in silence to the living room, and then motion stopped.

'Why didn't I plan this better?' he reprimanded himself mentally. His attention to detail seemed to have taken on a fatal injury and deserted him today.

"Ayame?" It was Yuki again, but he sounded a little less annoyed, and more puzzled.

"Yuki, there's, well, you see little brother, in all our long years, you know that everything I say to you has been a pearl of wisdom," Yuki started to look very annoyed again, and Ayame breathed an inner sigh of relief. Now that he had gotten going, not even he could stop himself. He started to smile more, his hands lifting from their sides. "So, as an older brother should, I have come to share something with you, a gift more precious than anything you could ever imagine in your wildest dreams."

His brother started rubbing his temples, his jaw tightening. "Ayame," he growled. "If you have a point, get to it. Now."

He had been interrupted mid-stride, and there was little hope of getting on the same train of thought now. This was too important to wander far from the topic. What if Yuki just got mad and kicked him out? That wouldn't do…he couldn't spend more than a day feeling like this, it would wreck havoc on his personality.

"I have something I need to talk to you about," he said, simply. It was possibly the most succinct thing that had ever passed his lips.

"Oh?" It came as something of a shock, to see that Yuki looked curious. He had been certain that with an approach as bland as that he would lessen his credibility, or that his brother would simply shoot him down before he got any farther.

"Yes," he said cheerfully.

And got no further.

All his plans, all his speeches, ones he had practiced every day after the shop had closed, had all gone from his head. He opened his mouth to continue, to tell his brother everything he needed to know. There were so many things that needed to be said. His brother needed to understand things. Everything needed to be clear and explained, it just had to be.

He couldn't say a word.

Talk had failed him, he felt lost, panicky. What was he supposed to do? And Yuki was still sitting, looking at him, his confusion even greater as emotions flashed over Ayame's face like tiny silver fish, frightened into a frenzy.

Ayame tried valiantly to force something past his lips. He had never fought so hard for a word, even one syllable, and yet he couldn't even manage that. It was time to break out the meat of the matter then. He felt a galvanizing surge of confidence. This was perfect. He was certain he could do this. Once he'd gotten this part over, he could do anything.

One hand slowly went up the other billowing sleeve, pulling out something small and brightly colored. This one motion would be the hardest, and then his tongue would unlock. He held out the book in his palm slowly, almost reverently, though the prayers were founded on terror. In his mind he pleaded for the words to come.

And again they didn't.

He had planned a grand apology. He had thought he would even say he was sorry, because that was what one was supposed to do in this kind of situation. There were a thousand things that he needed to say to Yuki, things neither one of them had ever heard.

"I want you to have this," was all he could say before he closed his eyes, close to visibly cringing.

This would be his judgment.

- - -

Yuki hadn't believed, since a young age, that things could be mended. They could be patched, they could be covered, but they could never be fixed. To fix something you needed two sets of hands, and in the Souma family, no two pairs of hands ever worked towards the same goals.

He held this fact true for he and Ayame.

If his brother had come on his knees, groveling with apology, he would have told him to leave. That couldn't be fixed, and Ayame's hands didn't know how to do the right things, the things they needed to do to make things right.

But it had taken the resolve right out of him, Ayame's hand. His breath stopped when he saw the little story book. He remembered it, remembered removing it from its little hiding place to examine it; to examine Ayame. He had never expected to see that little volume again. It would sit there, floating between them forever.

But there it was.

Ayame's hand was shaking, and Yuki found it difficult to believe that this panicked, and dare he even think it, tongue tied person sitting across from him was Ayame. His older brother, who had had a paragraph and then some for every occasion, sat in front of him in complete silence. He looked like he was waiting for the guillotine.

'Is he?' he wondered to himself. Could he do it, could he let the blade of retribution slam down at his brother's wrist? God only knew that Ayame would deserve it. As a child Yuki had clung at that hand, and that hand had pushed him away. He hated him for that, so much he couldn't stand it.

He knew it would do just as much to forgive his older brother. He had considered it many times, but the thought had always started a blaze of rage that he couldn't quell. Hadn't Ayame suffered enough? Thirteen years of owning that little volume, thirteen years of guilting himself over the years. He could be merciful, he could relieve that. . .

What was he thinking?

He wondered when he had become so high, so proud. When had he ever been found deserving to hold that much power over someone else. Ayame might have hurt him, but hadn't he retaliated just as often? If he was honest with himself, hadn't he set Ayame an impossible task? He had wanted his brother to earn his forgiveness, to deserve it; even though anything Ayame could do would never be enough. He had watched his brother jump through hoops for years, and had even denied the existence of those hoops. Ayame had come now, giving him a choice, halting their circus of family affections and hatred. He was asking Yuki to make one choice now, because he had finally figured out what his little brother had been doing all these years. Yuki knew that Ayame had figured out the game, and come to beg him to end it. Of course he didn't deserve to be forgiven, nothing could make up for the past…but neither of them could move forward until Yuki had either rejected or accepted the offer. If he did, then maybe they could start to fix some things; maybe things could get better.

But he still didn't know if he could forgive him completely. He still didn't trust Ayame's hands. Didn't trust them to help him fix things. They were too different. If it came to it, he wasn't sure if he could let Ayame be the one to hold him up, or if he could return the favor.

But…he could try.

That little book was something; it was the heart of one of the matters. It was the knife that they had unknowingly passed back and forth, always wary that the blade would suddenly open one of them up.

And he took it.

His fingers closed around it, and he looked from the cover and up at his older brother. "Thanks," was all he could manage.

There was no extravagant speech, no long winded vow. Ayame didn't say anything at all, but he did smile, and Yuki found himself, unlike he would have done with one of those empty vows, returning it. It was the first thought they had shared, Yuki was almost certain of that.

Neither one of them knew exactly what they had accomplished. They didn't know if it would do good or bad, or anything at all, but that wasn't the important part. They had done something, one had given and the other had received.

It was a first for them, and so for now, the results didn't really matter.

XXX

A/N: There, it is finished. Thank you all for reading and sticking with this, and I hope everyone liked, and that you'll review? I like to feel loved.

TTFN

Katia-chan


End file.
